


Above and Beyond

by TaniaRose



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaniaRose/pseuds/TaniaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya doesn't like the way U.N.C.L.E. take advantage of Napoleon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Above and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> So, in the movie Napoleon clearly has no issues whoring himself out to criminals in the line of duty and I wanted to expand on that and how things might be a few years down the line when Napoloen's in an established relationship with Illya. Thus this story was born. 
> 
> I've warned for dubious consent but there are no graphic descriptions, just mild hints. If there's anything else anyone feels I should warn for please let me know.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Nonny Mouse. Your input was invaulable. Any remaining errors are mine.

Illya Kuryakin spends a lot of time waiting.

Waiting for orders.

Waiting for the target.

Waiting for backup when a mission spirals beyond his control.

Waiting for Napoleon Solo.

It’s been almost two days since the American left the hotel U.N.C.L.E placed them in for their latest job, this time in Bern. Not that it matters where they are. European cities are all starting to look the same to Illya and the hotels within them are no different. Always luxurious, yet somehow sterile and bland to his eye, Illya doesn’t care whether he is in Naples or Paris, Madrid or Stockholm. It’s always the work and never the location that is at the forefront of his mind, unlike Napoleon who still seems to get excited by travel and moving on to somewhere new like an impatient, easily distracted child who hates sitting still for too long.

Illya is not concerned by Napoleon’s failure to return on time. For as much as Napoleon is an annoying infant he is also an experienced, confident adult who can handle himself. The longer Illya works with Napoleon, the more he’s come to accept that Napoleon is, in fact, not only perfectly competent as a spy but excellent at what he does in general. Napoleon will appear sooner or later - hopefully sooner, before Waverly is forced to reprimand them like he’s their nanny - and they will be heading back to New York with whatever information Napoleon has managed to extract from the target they’ve been sent to track.

As the clock strikes two in the morning, Illya shifts in the chair he occupies and turns the page of the book he’s been trying to focus on. He has been having an uncharacteristic amount of difficultly focusing on the words on the page in front of him. His thoughts keep drifting to Napoleon, and it’s mildly infuriating. It’s also completely absurd because Illya has never taken issue with waiting around like this, however relieved he is when the wait is over and he’s on his feet and getting his own part of the job done. He doesn’t envy Napoleon his role in their team, because Illya does not enjoy the song and dance of seducing their target or going undercover. Napoleon will be in his element at the moment and Illya’s time will come soon enough. Illya just doesn’t know why he can’t shake off this strange, distracting feeling that’s been bothering him since they were given this assignment. Bothering him more than he’ll ever admit.

The sound of a key turning in the door snaps Illya back to attention and he forces himself to concentrate on his book. No need for Napoleon to know Illya was distracted by him.

The other man’s arrogance is already impenetrable and he will gloat like no tomorrow if he ever gets the slightest inclination that his partner is remotely concerned about anything that involves him.

The key turns in the door for a second time but for some reason it doesn’t open. Illya can hear what sounds like Napoleon stumbling outside, struggling to get into the room. With a sigh, Illya puts the book down and stands, going to the door, wondering what’s going on. Maybe Napoleon has been drinking, though it’s unlikely. For his many, many flaws Napoleon is a professional while on the clock. He’ll drink for show when necessary but he’ll be stone cold sober exactly when it’s required of him. Though too much alcohol would explain why he’s taken so long to return to the hotel, if Napoleon has indeed somehow gotten distracted from the job and found the bottom of a bottle for whatever reason.

Illya opens the door with a frown.

“You’re back,” he remarks. “I was beginning to think you’d taken a walk. Perhaps fallen in a river somewhere.”

“Why, Peril. That almost sounds like you were worrying about me,” Napoleon smirks.

Illya rolls his eyes.

Napoleon is fine. Of course he is.

“Well, what happened? What did you find out?”

Napoleon has already shrugged out of his jacket, draped it over the back of the couch and moved to the mini bar, getting some nuts and a tiny bottle of liquor.

“I found out that Dezso Almássy was indeed smuggling weapon schematics out of Hungary and overseas, just as U.N.C.L.E. suspected. Specifically, he’s been helping some very wealthy, very important people who want arms they can use to beat their political rivials - well, those who they believe are their political rivals - into submission and maybe even start World War III. Now he’s hiding here from various governments.”

“That took you almost two days to find out?” Illya arches an eyebrow.

“It took me almost two days to get Almássy to let me in on it. You think I’m losing my touch?”

It’s not really a question and Napoleon’s not actually concerned. He’s smirking again as he asks.

“Anyway,” Napoleon says, finishing his drink and advancing towards Illya, taking hold of Illya’s hands and placing them on his own waist, bringing Illya in close and demanding a kiss. Napoleon likes to demand a lot of things. “I’m tired. Bed?”

It bemuses Illya how they do this. One minute they’re colleagues teasing each other and acting oblivious to the fact they are lovers too, and the next on their way to sleep together, to get lost in each other and have nothing else matter beyond the room they share.

Illya relives Napoleon of his waistcoat, then goes for the shirt. Napoleon flinches ever so subtly anyone else would have missed it, as Illya’s fingers barely brush against the buttons.

“What?” asks Illya, frowning.

“Nothing,” Napoleon replies, but his eyes have become troubled and there’s a rare weariness to him which wasn’t there two days ago. “Leave it.”

Napoleon goes to move Illya’s hand but Illya is firm and forces Napoleon to shed the garment. There is a funny feeling Illya has, like he’s ever so slightly ill as he turns Napoleon to face away from him, the other man clearly knowing protest is futile.

Illya’s suspicions are confirmed at the sight of several long, shallow cuts in all directions on Napoleon’s back.

“What did you do?” Illya sighs hopelessly, because he knows full well what Napoleon does when he’s working, how far he will go for U.N.C.L.E. Waverly and U.N.C.L.E have come to mean something very significant to Napoleon and Illya watches every day as Napoleon proves this over and over again. The American has come a long way from an art thief who was only working for the CIA because it seemed marginally preferable to prison. Over the last few years he’s earned U.N.C.L.E.’s respect ten times over, and Illya’s. Thinking back to how Napoleon was when they first met, Illya could never have imagined holding Napoleon in the high regards he does now. Since they’ve been working together with Gaby and Waverly, Napoleon has grown, blossomed. He’s still an egomaniac, still a thief, still very much the Napoleon Solo he was in the beginning, but with a sheen of maturity and grace that wasn’t there before. Now Illya can call Napoleon his partner and feel pride and loyalty and it isn’t grudging at all. U.N.C.L.E. has been the making of Napoleon.

And yet, Illya stands here and examines the cuts on Napoleon’s back and in this moment he hates U.N.C.L.E. and everything they ask, expect and allow Napoleon to do in the name of duty. They do more than take advantage, they knowingly put Napoleon into dangerous, compromising positions that could ruin his reputation and his life if things go wrong. Can U.N.L.C.E. really respect their finest agent and let that agent do the things he does?

Illya supresses the tiniest bubbling of rage he feels in the pits of his stomach and runs his fingers over the wounds. Napoleon doesn’t flinch now, at this, though Illya can feel tension layering Napoleon’s skin.

“What did you do?” Illya repeats, more demanding this time. He can demand things, too.  
Napoleon shrugs and then he does flinch, regretting the movement instantly.

“Almássy needed a little more persuasion to talk to me than most. Needed to know just how interested in him I was. And he has a predisposition for - ”

“Whips and chains?” Illya offers, slight disgust in his voice.

“Mmm, sort of,” Napoleon agrees. “Don’t worry. It was - ”

“It was not nothing, if that’s what you were going to say!” Illya snaps. “These things you do for U.N.C.L.E. You take it too far.”  
Napoleon sighs, annoyed, stepping away from Illya and sitting on the foot of the bed. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you trying to nursemaid me? I know what I’m doing.”

Illya scowls.

“I do,” Napoleon insists but it sounds suspiciously more like he’s trying to convince himself than Illya. “You know I do.”

He takes Illya’s hand again, pulling the Russian to join him on the bed.

“I’m not trying to nursemaid you,” Illya mutters. “Don’t be so ridiculous.”

There’s a pause. It’s awkward, because Illya is a liar. Napoleon, though, has softened. He’s not smirking like he might have done once, a time ago, he’s listening quite intently.

He listens more to Illya these days, and Illya is thankful.

“I know what I’m doing,” Napoleon reiterates. “We all play our parts for U.N.C.L.E. Sometimes, this is mine. You worry too much, Peril.”

“You don’t worry enough, Cowboy.”

Napoleon laughs and Illya somewhat relaxes. Maybe as long as they have this spark between them, this ease that’s built up over the years, it will be okay. Illya will never be happy with what U.N.C.L.E. can get Napoleon to do for them but the rage that threatened to spill over when he first saw the cuts on Napoleon’s back has simmered down and retreats almost entirely as Napoleon now kisses him, long and languid as though they’ve been doing this for a thousand years and have all the time in the world.

“I’m fine,” Napoleon says when they surface for air. “Especially when I’ve got this to come home to.”

Another kiss, and it’s like drowning. Illya feels like he’s underwater when he kisses Napoleon. Everything’s blurred and heavy and surreal.

“You need some ointment on those cuts,” says Illya when they reluctantly break apart again. “I’ll go get some.”

He turns to go, hearing Napoleon making himself comfortable on the bed.

Alright, so maybe he is nursemaiding. A little.

There are worse ways to spend a night.  



End file.
